The Memorandum Collection
by editor frog
Summary: An ongoing series of inter-office memos authored by the folks over at the BAU. Sit back, relax, enjoy the fun!
1. Chapter 1

**After writing "Memorandum" and "Second Memorandum" (catchy, I know), I found the format to lend well to some hilarious drabble writing. This, then, is the first of a possibly ongoing series of inter-office memos from the members of the BAU. Hope you enjoy! [Usual disclaimers.]

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**To:** SSA Aaron Hotchner

**From:** SSA Dr. Spencer Reid

**In re:** Blaze of Glory

Dear Hotch:

I am writing this memo to request that Morgan be put on immediate sabbatical. Though I'm sure you're scratching your head as to what possible reason I might have for making such a request, the answer is quite simple—I want to be the one to burst into someplace in a blaze of glory, not unlike our resident glory-hound does on an almost daily basis.

Seriously, there's something to be said for being the guy who runs the half-minute mile just to chase down some scumbag who's using petite women as giant pincushions or blasting through a solid wall using nothing but an eighth of my shoulder blade and a seven-thousand watt death glare. I mean, come on, look at me—you really think _I_ have a chance in hell against Mr. Wonderful over there?

My reasoning for his, um, 'encouraged' sabbatical is not entirely self-serving (though I have to admit I do make out pretty well in this case). I have it on good authority that his presence has been requested in Chicago for an extended stay and that he keeps putting it off and blaming it on work. I mean, it's his mom, for heaven's sake! One week a year just doesn't do it—ask me, I know!

I leave it to your good judgment as to the length of time to be allotted off. I only ask that we get a particularly nasty case in which I can show off my wall-breaking and head-smashing prowess.

Sincerely,

SSA Dr. Spencer Reid, Behavioral Analysis Unit


	2. Chapter 2

**This installment was supposed to be an email, but the damn server won't let me configure a _fake_ address! Still, hope you enjoy!

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To: Derek Morgan

From: Aaron Hotchner

Subject: Return to work

Sorry to cut the 'sabbatical' short, but we need you in Lincoln, Nebraska as soon as possible. To make a long story very, very short, we're just lucky I don't have to notify Reid's parents about funeral arrangements.

I mean, I completely agreed with you when I gave you the time off about the kid diving in off the deep end (and yes, I had him checked for the full panel of narcotics), but Reid did have a point—he _is_ 'kept inside' a lot. That sad truth was painfully confirmed when our resident genius thought it would be a brilliant idea to go barreling through the front door of an unsub's apartment with pistols blazing. (I'm still laughing as I write this. Seriously—_me_, laughing.)

How did that little escapade turn out, you ask? Simple. Reid bounced off the wooden door he was trying to break through like a ping-pong ball off cement. Then he tripped over his own feet trying to kick in the dooknob and wound up breaking his front teeth in half. Once we finally got the damn door open, he managed to shoot himself in the foot and the unsub in the knee because Reid simply _had_ to go into the situation with a gun in each hand. (Now you see why I don't let him shoot targets with me anymore. My insurance has tripled in the last five years on account of his aim.)

That, however, wasn't the worst part. That would have been when the unsub managed to regain his balance and got hold of Reid by the throat. I swear, the kid nearly became a pretzel until Emily and JJ shot his ass. (The unsub's, I mean. Reid's got enough injuries to deal with at the moment.)

The upside to this little caper is that I think the 'problem' has been completely worked out of Reid's system. The downside is that he now resembles Beetle Bailey after his sergeant gets through with him. (Lucky thing he's got vision _and_ dental. Yikes.) Doctor says he's got three months in traction and another two after that before he can jockey a desk. Garcia's trying to come up with a way for him to profile via satellite so he can keep what's left of his head in the game. The girls are also switching between feeling sorry for him because he's in so much pain and slapping him upside the head for being that damned stupid in the first place.

In short, please come back. We need you.

Sincerely,

Hotch


	3. Chapter 3

**And now we get Reid's version of events. Hope you enjoy!

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Memorial Hospital

16210 K Street SW

May 6, 2009

--

Dear Austin:

My plans to become a little more 'active' in my work have been seriously derailed. I'm writing this while sitting in my second week of traction, and I swear, I'm bored out of my fucking mind here. I know Garcia gave you a summary of what exactly happened when you called last time, but here's what _really _happened:

So we're in Lincoln, Nebraska, and we find out that the unsub is literally three blocks away from the police station. I ran nearly three miles just trying to keep up with the guy (must train regularly for the Boston Marathon, 'cause he was _fast_), and I managed to reach his front door after climbing six sets of stairs. No kidding—_six sets._

Now he's holed up in the apartment, and I try to get him out the old-fashioned and hopefully easy way; calling out and clearly telling the guy that the building's surrounded. (It wasn't, but really, I don't think he was looking.) After being told something along the lines of where I can get off and how I can accomplish this with both my mother and my father at the same time, I try breaking down the door. Yeah, you read right—breaking down the door.

Honestly, the whole thing doesn't look hard to accomplish when Morgan does it. A little clever application of leverage and force, and _voila!_ The door magically falls to the ground in a pile of wood chips and splinters. However, there does seem to be a bit of a trick to it, because all _I_ managed to do was give myself bruised shoulder blades and apparently give a good impression of a human ping-pong ball at an Olympic tournament. (I swear I heard Rossi snickering. Or maybe it was JJ. Toss-up on that point.) Still, you know something's definitely up when Emily just lifts her foot and kicks the damn thing in. When I tried that all I ended up doing was getting a free trip to the floor, first class.

Then we managed to corner the guy. No kidding, Austin, but he was loaded for bear—three knives, an AK-47 set on full auto, and who knows what else in his belt. (I think there might have been throwing stars. Not sure, but I'd bet money.) Hotch kind of gave me a funny look when I pulled out two pistols—the same one he gets when I ask him to shoot targets with me—but this guy had enough firepower to level the Eastern Seaboard and I wasn't gonna have no part of that. I figured, eh, maybe a stalemate, and we take the guy, but…then my gun accidentally went off. (I'm serious. It was an accident. Honest.) It wouldn't have been so bad if it hadn't hit my own damn foot in the process, so now I have a nice gaping hole where a good section of my flesh used to be. Problem was, I kind of pulled the other gun's trigger while I was dancing around screaming and holding the aforementioned injured foot, shooting the unsub right in the knee.

(A small note on shooting extremely pissed-off people, especially on accident: they tend to get even madder and become frustratingly violent. No sooner had I tried to apologize for shooting the creep than he lunges at me like a cobra lying in wait.)

In the end, it took five state cops plus Hotch and Rossi to get this guy's hands from around my neck. And my ass. And my ankle. (I kind of wonder if he wasn't planning a new sex move and was just waiting for a partner to try it on…) Once I got in the hospital, the doctors kept falling over into gales of laughter whenever someone explained how I managed to end up looking like Beetle Bailey on a bad day. Even now a few of them still can't keep it together when they see me all bandaged up and dangling from the rafters.

It's not all bad. I get lots of chocolate pudding and peanut butter cups (mainly because one of the nurses says I remind her of her grandson), and so far I've had three cases I was able to remote profile. I swear everyone laughed as I gave one of those with my mouth full of chocolate chip cookie, but come on—Emily's got the best baker in town, and the cookies are worth the hassle.

So that's what's new up here. Hopefully you've been just as busy but not as in pain and misery as I've been. Can't wait to see you in two weeks.

Sincerely,

Spencer


	4. Chapter 4

**This one is a series-within-a-series. (If I could play with fonts, I'd make this look sooo much cooler!) Hope you enjoy!

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_From the office of:_

_Jennifer Jareau_

_Public Relations Liaison, Behavioral Analysis Unit_

The following items have gone missing from my office:

3 stacks of Post-It notes

2 cartons of computer paper

16 requisition carbons

1 white coffee mug with "World's Greatest Mom" lettered in red ink

1 box herbal-citrus-green tea

2 pounds French Roast coffee

1 plush desk chair, purple upholstery with rolling feet

If the following items are found, please return them immediately and no one will be hurt

(I have a certain investigative team on speed dial)

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_Penelope Garcia_

_Technical Analyst and Computer Goddess_

_Behavioral Analysis Unit_

JJ, the tea sucks. I got you a new box. Lemon--yummy!

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_From the desk of:_

_SSA Emily Prentiss_

_Behavioral Analysis Unit_

Stole the computer paper to fill the damn printer again—I tried nabbing a requisition form but you were out. (It's Morgan's fault anyway, he can't figure out spell check to save his ass.)

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_SSA Dr. Spencer Reid, Behavioral Analysis Unit_

I wondered how I ended up with that mug…

(The coffee was great, by the way. How'd you know I liked French Roast?)

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_David Rossi_

_Senior Profiler_

_Behavioral Analysis Unit_

Hotch ran out of requisition forms—thought we could 'borrow' yours.

(He still won't get us the new espresso machine we were promised a year ago…)

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_Kevin Lynch_

_Technical Analyst, Internal Affairs Bureau_

Um, the chair's busted…at least, I think it's busted…well, anyway, the wheels are stuck and the left arm is a little dangly. I told Penelope we shouldn't, but…

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_SSA Aaron Hotchner_

_Unit Chief, Behavioral Analysis Unit_

JJ, whatever's missing will be returned promptly upon pain of the death glare. I have a feeling I know where most of it has gotten to, but I have to admit I stole the requisition carbons with Dave. (Man keeps whining about an espresso machine…)

By the way, could you schedule a meeting with our friends in Campbell for Thursday at 4:00, the usual place? There's a thing I'd like to float by them for a second opinion…

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_Derek Morgan_

_Behavioral Analysis Unit_

Whatecer Reid nd Prentiss tolld you, iit iis _not_ my fuult that the commputer pper's gone. The dmn printer''s on the friitz, and iit''s not my fauult that the keybord doesn't respond to my preecisiion typiing. (II think iit's stuck or sommethiing.)


	5. Chapter 5

**This one's mixed media--an answering machine recording, a notice in a restaurant window, and a letter. Hope you enjoy!

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"Hello, you've reached Pizza Maven. We're sorry, but due to high call volumes unable to take your order. Please feel free to use our online delivery system unless you work on the sixth floor at the FBI Academy in Quantico; in that case, stop calling. We've lost more pizza chefs on account of you people not making up your minds on toppings for three friggin' pizzas!"

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**Mandarin Lantern**

Dear Patrons:

We are very sorry to announce that we will be closing for several months on account of massive reconstruction to our premises. As you may have read in yesterday's paper, our kitchen and dining rooms suffered extensive water and smoke damage after a patron 'accidentally' knocked over a dish of flaming pepper steak onto the polyurethane-based carpeting. We hope to be up and running very soon, and look forward to seeing all our regular customers in the future.

Sincerely, the Management

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Dear Austin:

You know of any pizza places that deliver from Atlanta to D.C.? 'Cause the last one here in town that would deliver to work permanently banned us from ordering anything there—they claimed that we were calling too much with topping changes and add-ons while the pizza was still baking. It's not my fault that Hotch has a delicate stomach and that Rossi wants to put, like, three tons of spice on _everything._ Plus Morgan keeps changing his mind about olives and Emily keeps wanting more sides—her mind changes by the second. (I wonder if she eats this much when we're _not_ with her, really.)

Oh, any good Chinese places that also deliver long distance would be helpful too. Apparently I'm being sued for damages to our favorite spot in town because some waiter left a flaming pile of meat and bell peppers in the middle of the walkway and I ran into it. (Literally—_ran into it._ I didn't think they made carpeting out of plastics anymore…)

While I'm thinking about it, we could really use a good Italian place, too—Garcia pissed off the owner at the last place we found near work because she though his pasta tasted like a combination of dirt and glue and she told him so during dinner rush. And if that wasn't bad enough, JJ stepped in and sided with Garcia, threatening legal action if he didn't stop cussing at them. (JJ's got a _mouth_ on her, let me tell you…)

However, we still have a good ice cream place. They stay in business because the girls keep eating them out of inventory on the day their truck arrives, it seems like. (I honestly don't know where they put it, but I have to say the Chocolate Delight is simply amazing—and in a waffle cone? _Yum!)_

Can't wait until your next trip up here. I hope you like home cooking.

Sincerely,

Spencer


	6. Chapter 6

**And now a word from Emily. Hope you enjoy!

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**Subject: Cooking School**

Dear Dad:

It's been awhile since we last talked, but I wanted to write and inform you that I have enrolled in cooking school with some of my colleagues from work. (Yes. Cooking school. Can you believe it?!) My friend Garcia thought it would be something fun to try, and since the sadistic whackjobs seem to be on a sabbatical of sorts, we decided to sign up.

The first week was fun. Garcia and I got to pair up with another couple of friends of ours to make cookies. Unfortunately, Chase is kind of a klutz in the kitchen, so we ended up failing that assignment because she blew up the oven. (At first we thought it was fireworks—no such luck.) However, we did learn that electric mixers and long hair do not mix (JJ had a horrible time with that one) and that if you put too much flour in the cookies they will both fall apart and taste as bland as dirt. Probably explains why Mother always ordered our desserts from the embassy chefs, huh?

The second week we tried making noodles. Those went a lot easier until we had to cut them. Our dough was so thick it could stop a tank. Poor Garcia accidentally dropped the giant ball onto the floor and the tile underneath cracked in six places. (Good thing it wasn't on her foot!) There was an upside to this, though—our instructor parked in a mud puddle and got her car stuck, and the dough proved handy as a way to give the tire a little traction.

The third week we tried soup. This time we followed the directions to a "T," except we added water to the cooked chicken pieces and veggies instead of chicken stock. (No wonder the soup tasted funny, huh?) There wasn't enough bouillon cubes that could fix that problem, not after over an hour of boiling tasteless, tough meat in water that had more grease than a potato-chip factory in July.

Next week our instructor is going to try letting me and my friends fix ouselves bowls of cereal. Think we'll be able to cover that one all right?

Love, Emily


	7. Chapter 7

**Hope you enjoy!

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**Requisition for Office Supplies**

**Name: **Penelope Garcia

**Type of supplies requested: **1 small metal trash can, 1 plush office chair with rolling feet (preferably red or purple)

**Reason for request: **Um, are you _really _sure you want to know? I mean, seriously? Can't we just say they're falling apart and let that slide?

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**Name: **David Rossi

**Type of supplies requested: **1 espresso machine, 1 set espresso cups

**Reason for request:** Considering the things we look at on a daily basis, I'd say we need the caffeine (plus it's better than hooking the profiling staff to a slow-drip IV of the stuff). Plus we were promised one a year ago.

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**Name: **Jennifer Jareau

**Type of supplies requested: **1 office chair, purple upholstery, rolling feet

**Reason for request: **Because someone who shall remain nameless decided it would be a good idea to start racing up and down hallways in the thing while performing acts of a…well, a more personal nature. I am now sitting on a rickety wooden stepstool that has more splinters than a cat has hair, and I'm tired of pulling them out of my rear end every night.

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**Name: **Derek Morgan

**Type of supplies requested: **1 computer keyboard

**Reason for request: **The damn thing's been on the fritz for two months! I can't write reports, I can't answer emails, my coworkers laugh at my spelling (that _isn't_ my fault, guys!) and not replacing it is seriously impeding my ability to work properly.

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**Name: ** Emily Prentiss

**Type of supplies requested: **1 box standard yellow legal pads, 1 box gel-ink pens (blue or standard black) 2 sets industrial earmuffs

**Reason for request: **Until IT gets off its lazy ass and fixes our fucking printer, I've got to write all my reports longhand. Plus my vocabulary is growing exponentially due to my coworker cussing at his computer worse than a ship full of sailors.

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**To: **Jennifer Jareau

**From: **Aaron Hotchner

**In re: **Request rescinded

Could you tear up Dave's request for the espresso machine? I finally went out and bought one for us, so the paperwork's not necessary. (Hope the man likes buttons.)


	8. Chapter 8

**So about that espresso machine... (Points if you guess the coworker mentioned before the end.) Hope you enjoy!

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Dear Sir:

My office recently purchased an EspressoMaster 5000 series espresso maker that malfunctioned. I'm pretty sure that scalding hot coffee isn't supposed to spew out of the spout like a cross between a tropical hurricane and Linda Blair from "The Exorcist."

Here are the events that transpired:

My coworker went about filling the machine with the proper amount of water and coffee grinds and sat patiently to wait for the machine to work. After about twenty minutes, there was still no coffee nor any promise of coffee to come. Before you ask, all the proper electrical plugs were connected correctly as was the filter head containing the grinds, as well as the water being at the proper levels.

With there being no coffee forthcoming, my coworker proceeded to start pressing various buttons on the machine in an attempt to begin the brewing process. I must admit that afterwards we did learn that it is not generally a good idea to select "grande" and "hot chocolate" at the exact same time (which my coworker ended up doing), as that raises the temperature of the espresso maker to near-supernova levels.

The problem is, however, that the machine still did not work. Frustrated, my coworker began to pound on the device with a nearby desk nameplate in an attempt to cajole the espresso machine to begin working. That might have led to the spout becoming dislodged, causing the second-degree burns that occurred when the machine mysteriously decided to drain itself of the scalding liquid it contained within it.

Basically, I am writing to request a full refund of your product before I call the Better Business Bureau on your company for selling an obviously defective product. I am also writing to inform you that you may become party to a lawsuit being filed by my coworker seeking damages for pain and suffering (our boss is a lawyer, so you might be meeting him too).

Sincerely,

David Rossi

Senior Profiler

Behavioral Analysis Unit, Federal Bureau of Investigation

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Dear Mr. Rossi:

If your coworker is stupid enough to beat an obviously defective product into some sort of submission, then he deserved whatever came at him. Our corporate board never laughed so hard in their lives after reading your letter.

Enclosed is a refund for your EspressoMaster 5000 machine, with our regrets. However, I seriously doubt your coworker will collect one dime off of us for his sheer stupidity. (Is the man _really _a doctor?)

Regards,

Charles Proctor

VP Housewares, CoffeeExpress


	9. Chapter 9

**I should mention that I take suggestions and requests in re: this series. Here's a suggestion I got from a reader--hope you enjoy!**

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Dear Austin:

Between the coffee machine blowing up at work (I can still hear you laughing at that one) and the one at my house finally disintegrating into individual components, you'd think I had been sufficiently punished by God or whoever it is that runs things upstairs.

But no. No, I am apparently not done suffering yet.

I went into the local Starbucks the other day and found a giant WARNING poster emblazoned on the back wall with my photo smack in the middle of it. (The thing was framed. That should have been a clue right there.) When I came up to the counter, I got the cold shoulder for about fifteen minutes before I started to get pissed. I mean, I'm a paying customer—I deserve to be waited on too!

Once I started loudly insinuating that I could have the place closed on health code violations (me and one of the guys down there are pretty tight), I suddenly managed to draw the attention of the manager. When I politely asked why I was being ignored at the counter, I was informed that the franchise operator had been told that I could no longer be served at their establishment. Naturally, I asked why not, but the woman shook her head and said that I would have to call a number.

So there I am, dripping wet (it was raining last Tuesday) and coffee-less. Luckily there's a Starbucks stand near the train stop, so I just decided to skip the muffin and just get the coffee. When I got there, however, there was that damned WARNING sign again with my picture on it. (I swear they picked the most hideous picture of me available—it looks worse than my driver's license photo. Did they dig one up from college or something?)

Undaunted, I strode up and asked Pete for my usual coffee. Now, me and Pete go way back (ever since I tripped over my own feet and spilled my triple-shot extra-foam espresso latte with five sugars into his machine and closed him down for the day my first week in Quantico), so I asked him what the deal was with the poster of me hanging on the wall.

"Spencer," he said—he always calls me by my first name—"don't you know?"

"Apparently not," I remember saying. "What'd I do now?"

Well, apparently I've run up a repair bill for broken machinery and coffee so high that I've been blacklisted from Starbucks establishments nationwide. Now that I think about it, I _have_ had a few 'incidents' whenever I go there…but the problem is, I have no coffee maker at home, the one at work's broke, and there's nowhere else in town that makes a triple-shot extra-foam espresso latte.

Now I'm in semi-withdrawal, and I'm irritable and cranky. Plus I have to rely on my teammate's good graces to supply me with coffee every morning at mid-afternoon (and Morgan makes me pay double when he goes!). I don't suppose you could send me a good espresso maker that no one's using, could you? Or at least kidnap a good barista so I can make them an excellent job offer?

Looking forward to seeing you next month!

Sincerely,

Spencer


	10. Chapter 10

**A short one for Mother's Day. I'd like to write one on this topic with JJ too, but ideas are scarce. Suggestions?

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**

Dear Mom:

I'm writing this from Podunk, USA where the concept of cell phone service is on par with using the carrier pigeon to communicate. I know that today is Mother's Day, and yes, before you ask, I am seeing someone—though I'm not sure it's going to last long. Guy has some strange notions on me quitting my job (like that's going to happen anytime soon).

It's a shame I'm out in the field on this, today of all days, especially since you've actually got the day off for a change. I've already informed our unsub that it's his fault I'm missing drinks with my mom, but seriously, I'm really not too convinced that he cares. (Maybe he needs drinks with him mom…oh, wait. Scratch that. She's the reason we're all here in the first place.)

Anyway, definitely catching a couple of rum and Cokes with you when I get back. You are off the entire week, right?

Love, Emily


	11. Chapter 11

**Name: **Aaron Hotchner

**Type of item(s) required: **1 office chair, overstuffed; 1 desk, oak, standard size; 1 industrial-strength laptop, preferably with Windows XP

**Reason for request: **Because one of my agents decided that my office was the best place to 'hook up' with his girlfriend.

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Dear Austin:

Just a quick note—we, uh, owe Hotch $577 for office cleaning and a new desk (the government reimbursed the chair and the laptop). Plus we owe him drinks, and considering _what_ he drinks when we usually go out, that won't be cheap.

On the plus side, it was _great _seeing you again. (Why my coworkers thought I'd never, well, you know...I have _no_ idea!)

Sincerely,

Spencer


	12. Chapter 12

**Another long letter. Hope you enjoy!

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Dear Austin:

I'm convinced that God (or whoever's running the show up there) has got it in for me. Seriously.

The story goes something like this:

We were on a case in Escanaba, Michigan tracking this guy who had a penchant for setting up fatal 'accidents' in order to collect the insurance money. While JJ and Emily were working with Garcia to have the insurance companies stop payment on the fraudulent claims, the rest of us had to navigate the dense woods that make up most of Michigan's Upper Peninsula to _find_ the creep. Of course, who manages to trip over him? (If you said me, you're psychic.)

So there I am, chasing after a guy who's part long-distance runner and part wilderness expert across thick trees and hills and whatnot. Somehow I managed to extract myself from the thorny branches in one spot only to fall in a sinkhole up to my knees the next, and then I had to deal with the guy contemplating whether he should just shoot me while I was down or make a game of it.

Well, game or no, I have to say I'm getting tired of being the one in the perilous position time and again. I mean, let's face it—I've been kidnapped, held hostage, held at gunpoint, held at knifepoint, poisoned, drugged within an inch of my life, and I'm not even thirty yet. (I swear there's a pool going around to see if I even _make _thirty. I hear it's up to five thousand bucks.)

Anyway, so there we are, me in the hole and the unsub taking his time. Now, I've got scratches, my feet are now stuck in this sinkhole, my leg is severely twisted from the fall in the hole and from climbing this massive hill while tripping over my feet, and I've got a killer headache. Luckily, the hole is big enough for me to sink the rest of me into without getting stuck, so I did that to try and cover myself. I also did that so I could get my pistol in my hands without freak-show boy snatching it from me. As the creep circles me again, his long muzzleloader pointed at me, I carefully pull out my sidearm and point it just at his arm, and manage to pull the trigger with him none the wiser. (That is, until his arm had a giant hole in it from a .45 caliber bullet.)

I know, I know, all's well that ends well, but still—just once I'd like to see someone _else_ have to make those kinds of moves. As it is I'm probably going to need massive therapy when I'm sixty (if, of course, I live that long!). I mean, a part of me wants to see Morgan talk his way out of the crazy psycho's grip or Emily have to fight off some insane man's 'concoction of evil' or even Rossi have to piss someone off just to make a decent shot. Why is it always _me_ that has to think fast to save his own ass?

Oh well. Hope the magic school's going well. You promised to show me your first trick when you come back up.

Sincerely,

Spencer


	13. Chapter 13

**It's up to you, readers, to figure out what happened. Happy guessing!

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**Name: **Emily Prentiss

**Type of item: **1 jar/bottle of superglue remover

**Reason for item request: **Because without it one of our agents will likely starve to death.

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**Name: **Dr. Spencer Reid

**DOB: **10/12/1982

**Occupation: **FBI Agent/Profiler

**Reason for admittance: **Large skin tears on upper and lower arms; slight chemical burns; large bruises on upper arms and shoulders.

**Diagnosis: **Superglue accident.

**Treatment: **800mg ibuprofen 3x daily; ointment with aloe and Vitamin E for burns; cold compresses for bruises.

**Notes: **Patient claims his desk was booby-trapped by a coworker.

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Dear Mr. Morgan:

I am afraid it is impossible to allow our company to cover the costs of your coworker's medical treatment, even if his condition was caused by your wrongdoing. Please advise him that he will need to speak to his own health insurance provider.

Sincerely,

Carol Hartman

CEO, BCBS Virginia

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Dear Dr. Reid:

I regret to inform you that your insurance premiums must increase effective immediately due to your recent classification as a 'high-risk' insured. Please note the change in your policy forthwith.

Sincerely,

Paul Scopes

Aetna Healthcare


	14. Chapter 14

**By popular demand, here's what transpired to warrant the previous memos. Hope you enjoy!

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**

Dear Austin:

Next week might be a bad time to plan a trip to visit—I'm right in the middle of planning a funeral. Or at the very least, I'm up to my elbows in bandages and plots with Kyle Parker to siphon a boatload of money from a certain coworker's accounts.

Here's the story:

Last Wednesday was really, really, incredibly slow—so slow that even Hotch was sitting around twiddling his thumbs (and that's saying something, believe me). After about four hours of perfecting magic tricks, I…kinda decided it was a good day to make Morgan's chair 'disappear.' The trick worked, too—too well, in fact. The clear plastic cord I'd tied around the string nearly tripped Emily and Rossi as they tried to walk past, and finally I managed to pull the chair from under Morgan's behind as he was playing a game of Jewel Quest on his computer…causing him to fall on his ass and spill scalding hot coffee in the process. Even though I apologized profusely and not only got him new clothes _and_ new coffee from the only caffeine dealer in D.C. that'll serve me (don't ask), Morgan vowed to get 'revenge' on me.

Well, Thursday and Friday went by without a hitch, but on Monday I came in with a stack of folders up to my eyeballs and just tossed them on my desk, my arms falling square on the top surface of the object as I sat down. Problem was, _someone_ who shall remain _nameless_ decided that the perfect 'revenge' was spreading a thick layer of clear _superglue_ all over the open area of my desk. And my arms were stuck right to it, all the way from my curled-up fingertips to my elbows.

After the initial snickering and teasing from some of my other coworkers (whom I'm also plotting against), Emily and Garcia were nice enough to try and pick me up from the desk. That is, until we all realized that Morgan had covered my desk in the superglue equivalent of Permaseal. It took eight jars of superglue remover (which burns like hell!), some applied force from Hotch, Rossi, Morgan _and _Anderson, and finally a call to the local fire department and paramedic service to remove me from my desk.

And if that wasn't enough, my insurance company has decided that I'm 'high-risk' and jacked my rates up about thirty percent. (Morgan offered to get his company to pay my bills, but no dice. He still owes me.)

So, there you have it. I've been spending a lot of time in Campbell discussing my next caper with Kyle, who has some free time and an untraceable worm on his hands. I think coming in two weeks might be a better idea, honey…unless you want to watch fireworks.

Sincerely,

Spencer


	15. Chapter 15

**Okay, now you tell me--what did Reid and Kyle do to Morgan? :)

* * *

**

May 13, 2009

Derek Morgan

15316 Poplar Lane

Falls Church, VA

-

Statement of Charges

May 6 Memorial Hospital $15,423

May 1_ Payment—Thank You_ $800

Apr 31 Starbucks LOC #1340 $5.43

Apr. 27_ Payment—Thank You_ $400

Apr. 13 Lowes #4300 $1200

Apr. 9 Pizza Express $25.49

Apr. 1 Shell Oil #0030 $100

-

Debits as of May 11: $16,753.92

Credits as of May 11: $1200

-

**Balance Due by May 28: $15,553.42**

----

**Name: **Derek Morgan

**Type of item required: **1 desk chair with rolling feet; 1 PC with flat-screen monitor; 1 package standard ballpoint pens; 1 case yellow legal tablets, 1 stainless steel desk with drawers; 1 nameplate holder, gold

**Reason for request: **Because someone thought it would be a good idea to auction off all of my things in order to raise cash for medical expenses...


	16. Chapter 16

**For more on this memo, see my story "Intervention."

* * *

**

**Name: **Penelope Garcia

**Type of item: **30 rolls of bubble wrap, approx. 7' in length; 30 rolls duct tape; 1 Exacto knife; 30 surgical masks; 4 pair safety goggles, medium, 30 boxes Flexi-Straws, large

**Reason for request: **Security measures. Particularly with certain agents on the sixth floor.


	17. Chapter 17

**Being from Michigan, this point in the finale really, really, _really_ bugged the hell out of me. I hope this bit is both enjoyable and thought-provoking. :)

* * *

**

**Name: **Derek Morgan

**Type of supplies requested: **1 folding map of Southeast Michigan; 1 folding city map of Detroit; 1 folding map of Eastern Ontario, Canada; 1 folding map each of the St. Clair River, Lake St. Clair and Lake Huron; 1 fully functioning top-of-the-line GPS system

**Reason for request:** Because there's _no way_ in _hell_ a Canadian citizen _chooses _to drive an hour and a half in the United States with a kidnap victim in the car when he can cross over the border in the city his crime took place in!!!


	18. Chapter 18

**Name: **Emily Prentiss

**Type of items requested: **5 pounds French Roast coffee; 4 containers Coffee-Mate, 2 ameretto/2 hazelnut; 1 electric coffeemaker, black; 3 porcelain coffee cups, white or red; 1 large shipping container, cardboard; $50.00 for postage and insurance

**Reason for request:** Because someone spent three days breaking prison code and ended up draining and demolishing the breakroom in the Des Moines, Iowa police station three weeks ago. Please bill the above items to Dr. Spencer Reid, Behavioral Analysis Unit, 6th floor.


	19. Chapter 19

**I swear to God, the law that this request describes was true at one time, if it isn't still. (I might be wrong on the location, though.)

* * *

**

**Name: **Jennifer Jareau

**Type of items requested: **Red flag material, 1 bolt; 3/4 inch thick dowel rods (2), cut to about three feet in length; 1 industrial size staple gun w/ staples loaded inside; orange reflective vests (2), orange reflective helmets (2), knee pads (4), shoulder pads (4)

**Reason for request:**Because the BAU team is working a case in Tennessee and apparently there's a law concerning women driving on the roads in the area.


	20. Chapter 20

**You'll understand this one a lot better if you recall how Kyle Parker deals with the threat of information getting in the wrong hands. Enjoy!

* * *

**

**Name: **Penelope Garcia

**Type of items requested: **8 flat-screen LCD monitors, preferably Compaq or HP; 1 portable softkey keyboard, standard black or hot pink; 1 wireless mouse, small; 13 computer towers, preferably Compaq or HP, Linux OS installed; two months vacation time starting on Friday

**Reason for request: **Because some freakin' techno whack job decided to hack my babies again, and I kinda sort of maybe took a friend and good colleague's advice on wiping hard drives in the middle of a superhack. :(


End file.
